Evelyn (Gaberdiel) Radabaugh

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Evelyn Gaberdiel ... ^[1]

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Evelyn Gaberdiel Radabaugh

The following was written by her son, Dennis Charles Radabaugh.

Evelyn May Gaberdiel was born, of course in the month of May. May 13, 1918. Born into poverty and an unstable family, she would find love and security and a sense of achievement.

Evelyn was one of ten children born to Emma Book Gaberdiel and Howard Gaberdiel. Her mother would later tell her children that, when she and Howard were dating, their friends would say, “There goes Howard with a Book under his arm”.

Life was hard for the Gaberdiels, and it seems that they were often on the move. They lived on a farm in Auglaize Co., Ohio, in Spencerville, Ohio (on 213 East Second Street), and in southern Michigan, in Bankers (Hillsdale County). Her father was not drawn to the life of a farmer, and tried alternatives, such as a bar/restaurant in Spencerville, Ohio. For reasons we will never know, he did not want to stay with his family. On many occasions, he left the family and ran off. If he didn't run far, the county sheriff tracked him down and brought him back. But one day he left for Michigan and never came back.

It must have been a terribly painful time. His wife, Emma, never forgave him, although she remained remarkably charitable in one sense. When word came that Howard was dying of a terminal illness in Michigan, she told her kids that she didn’t want them to hate him. “He’s your dad”, she said. But she also said, “When I die, don't bury me next to him.”

When I asked Evelyn and her favorite sister, Donna, to reminisce, they recalled hard times. They were not always sure where food came from. There were some arrangements for poor families. Donna recalled that she and her twin brother, Donald, were often sent to pick up food from some charitable organization or agency. They were ashamed to be seen doing so, and other children made it clear that they were of a different social class.

My mother described a typical breakfast. In the evening, her mom would cover some wheat from the field into a pan and cover it with water. After soaking all night, it was boiled in the morning and became a hot breakfast cereal. She tired of it. I once asked her to tell about some of the best times she remembered as a kid. She couldn’t recall anything for a minute or so, but finally told this story. One summer, she picked as many wild berries as she could and sold them. At some point she had enough money to send off to a catalog store (presumably Sears Roebuck or Montgomery Ward) and buy a new pair of sandals.

Early photos of her, including school photos, showed a little girl, typically barefoot and in clothes that looked worn and sometimes dirty.

Despite that, on other occasions, she recalled activities that must have been great fun. She said that she was the only girl would did the things the boys (her brothers Vernon and Erval) did, like play on the railroad tracks that ran through Bankers, Michigan… and climb on the stopped railroad cars.

She was convinced that her dad liked her best, and probably did not think much about why he left. She recalled his working out in the barn, with a foot-treadle powered jig saw, cutting a copy of the Lord’s Prayer in wood. After the death of both parents, this project was claimed by Evelyn’s older sister, Doris, who never really displayed it. After Doris’ death, her daughter gave it to Evelyn who hung it in a place of honor in her living room. Clearly, her feelings for her father ran deep despite the desertion. (After Evelyn’s death, the piece was given to her younger sister, Donna).

She attended a primary school on the curve of Bankers Road (near intersection of Cambria Road), southwest of Hillsdale. Oddly, the school later was converted to a house, eventually purchased by Jim and Rena Baker, wonderful friends of Evelyn and Dorr.

At age 14, Evelyn’s life changed profoundly. A high school friend recommended her for a position as a housekeeper for an affluent family in Hillsdale, Michigan. R.W. Seybold owned a jewelry store, and his family was, no doubt, one of the more refined and respected families in town. They lived in a house at 175 South Howell Street (later the site of a Flagstar bank). Evelyn was to clean, keep house, cook, etc., and in exchange, she would have her own room, and luxuries she had never before experienced. She jumped at the chance. She knew that, if she left, she would be better off, and there would be more food for the others. She later said that if she had stayed home, she probably would not be able to complete high school. At the Seybolds, she had her own bed in her own room, a room that was heated in winter. She took her first bath in heated water in a real bathtub. Mrs. Seybold taught her manners, taught her how to cook. And best of all, the Seybolds treated her like family. She could even eat with invited guests, though, of course she was responsible for serving, clearing the dishes, and cleaning up.

It is difficult to overstate the positive influence these gentle people had on my mother’s life. When she became engaged, it was Mrs. Seybold who arranged an engagement party, and invited mom’s friends. When mom and dad were married, the Seybolds gave them a beautiful, complete set of silverware, that my mom used and cherished her whole life. When my dad was drafted and went to fight in France, Germany, and Austria, my mom made periodic visits to her former adopted home.

In no way did the warm and supportive environment the Seybolds provided diminish my mother’s love for her biological family. It seems that the difficult times the Gaberdiel kids experienced made them cling together even more fiercely than most. And during the 27 months that my dad was in the army, mom moved back with her mother, Emma Book Gaberdiel, at 213 2nd Street in Spencerville, Ohio. During the 1950’s, her mother would come to Hillsdale, Michigan to stay with us for a month or so each winter (her place in Spencerville still didn't have indoor plumbing, and there was no central heat). The only time I ever heard my mother cry was when her mother died. When Erval, her favorite brother needed a place to stay, he moved in with us. Gaberdiel reunions and holiday gatherings were never missed. During these gatherings, there were never any activities (for the adults) save eating and talking. I suspect they never quite forgot what a pleasure it is to have enough to eat, and so, perhaps, no other entertainment was needed.

In her young adult years, she was very active and good at sports. There are films of her playing tennis, and she was a damn good ping pong player. Bowling turned out to be her real strength however, and for many years she was a key team member in the women’s bowling league. The site was, believe it or not, in the upstairs of a building across from the back side of the Hillsdale county court house. I can still picture the place: a haze of blue cigarette smoke, two billiards tables, always surrounded by concentrating white haired, gentlemen, neatly dressed, with arm bands holding the sleeves in place; behind those were standard pool tables, where the more disreputable looking younger guys hung out; and, of course, the bowling alleys themselves, about 4 of them, and all served by human pin setters. Mom was small of stature, but she was consistent. Few powerhouse strikes, but astounding numbers of spares, and so she had too many 200+ games to count. My dad, a superb athlete, tried to annihilate the pins with power, and, as a result, gave up control and placement. Mom usually beat him, and he gave up bowling.

After we moved from Dearborn to Hillsdale and took the house at 81 State Street, mom always worked. For some years, while I was in grade school, she worked as a cook/waitress at the College Tavern, a restaurant (not a bar) across from the main academic buildings of Hillsdale College. The place was owned and run by “Ma” and “Pa” Peters, a Hungarian couple who lived upstairs with their daughter, Irene, and Ma’s mother. Mrs. Peters was the driving force behind the operation, full of life and laughter, and her Hungarian accent seemed to get thicker each year. She treated mom well, giving her plenty of responsibility. On one scary day, Mrs. Peters’ mother, who had become senile and unpredictable, came downstairs, picked up a kitchen knife and raised it over her daughter. Mom grabbed her by the wrist, and held on until others reacted, and a tragedy was averted.

By the time I was in high school, mom went to work for Robinson Directory Service in Hillsdale, and there she stayed until she retired a great many years later. George and May Robinson, the owners, also treated mom well, and mom took her work very seriously. It was exacting and tedious, but she enjoyed it and enjoyed the sense of accomplishment that it gave her. Though she stayed there for many years, the general turnover rate was high at Robinsons, and a succession of new people always had to be trained. Many of them led stressed lives, and, besides training them, mom helped many with advice, support, and sometimes money. She also made close friends there, people who were with her until the end.

There were times in her life when she was uncommonly brave and times when she was fearful. She was brave when she set off alone for New York City, hoping to see my dad one last time before he went to war. She was brave when she set out, with me, and drove from Ohio to Oklahoma to visit my dad during advanced artillery training. Oddly enough, she was afraid of certain ordinary things: getting on a boat or an airplane. It was not easy for her to agree to go on a family cruise to the Bahamas. She almost never flew; the one exception was when my dad won a free trip for two to Las Vegas.

She took special pride in her cooking, and in being a good hostess. Our house was often full of visitors – relatives, friends, work associates. My parents played cards (canasta), and they went dancing (there was a dance club that met weekly in the ballroom above the public library).

The lights of her life were her two grandchildren, John (Radabaugh-26), and Carrie (Radabaugh-27) and she treasured every accomplishment, every stage of their lives. Also high on her list were grandchildren of her favorite sister, Donna (Laura and Evan).

Both of my parents were frugal people, and so even simple luxuries gave them great pleasure. They made an enjoyable game of eating out – over the years, especially after both were retired, they probably ate in every restaurant within a 50 mile radius of Hillsdale. They seemed to appreciate all of them, and were always amazed by how much food was served.

My parents often talked about how far they had come in their lives, and it was clear that they thought of themselves as extraordinarily lucky. Perhaps their modest – or in the case of my mother, impoverished - early lives made them aware of how satisfying basic comforts were.

Nothing lasts forever. My father died in January of 1997, and it was a terrible blow to my mom. With the support of friends and family she weathered the loss, and eventually found ways to enjoy parts of her life on her own. She cooked less and less often, and drove to local restaurants for lunch, and sometimes dinner. Eventually, her eyesight failed and she lost her driver’s license, although she continued to drive for a time without it. Even after she couldn’t drive, she walked the 8-9 blocks to town where she enjoyed a half order of chicken and biscuits, almost every day.

One day, she tripped and fell on a rough patch of State Street sidewalk, fracturing her arm. A kind motorist saw the fall, and took her to the hospital. I (Denny) drove up the next morning to find her unable to rise from a chair or go to the toilet by herself. After several days, and against her vigorous protests, I was able to have her admitted to Drews Place, an assisted living facility. For a time, she insisted that she would be going back home, but it was clear that her physical and mental decline made that impossible. At one point, she was admitted to the Hillsdale Hospital for tests, and despite explicit directions from the Drews staff that she must not be left alone, she was left alone. She fell and fractured a hip. She made a gutsy recovery from that operation, but time was against her. She was moved to another Drews facility for patients who needed more individual care. Friends and relatives continued to visit her, but the time came when she did not recognize many of them. The staff members at Drews were both caring and professional, and her time there was comfortable, safe, and pleasant. It was there that she died in June of 2005, having lived a full life.